


Jezebel

by aeoleus



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV), Thirteen Reasons Why - Jay Asher
Genre: AU: Hannah doesn't die!, Clay is anxious and panicky but hey at least he has a little training, Everybody Lives, First Aid, Fix-It, Frfr this is a little graphic pls avoid if ur at all bothered by that shit, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, first responder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 05:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10712904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeoleus/pseuds/aeoleus
Summary: Mr. Porter may have done nothing the day that Hannah walked out of his office. But Clay did.(TW: Suicide attempt.)





	Jezebel

**Author's Note:**

> for maximum angst listen to "Jezebel" By Iron and Wine while reading this. Guarantee you'll cry at least a little. I know I did

“You’re late, Mr. Jensen.” The secretary squinted at Clay.

“Yeah, sorry, I missed my alarm this morning.” Clay said.

“Well, as long as it doesn’t become a habit.” The secretary handed Clay a late slip. “Now, get to class.”

“Thanks-”

The door to Mr. Porter’s office banged opened, and Hannah stomped out. Her eyes were puffy red and she put her head down as she passed Clay. Clay glanced in the office. Mr. Porter was on the phone, distractedly watching Hannah leave but definitely not calling her back.

“Wait, Hannah!” Clay hoisted his backpack on and followed her out of the office.

“What?” She snapped. There was something about her expression. Clay couldn’t name it, but she looked defeated.

“I just, uh… Is something wrong?” He moved a little closer to her, reached out a hand to put on her shoulder. Hannah jerked away from her. Clay lowered his hand. He knew that night at the party hadn’t gone well. But he never thought Hannah was that revolted by him.

“Wrong? Is something wrong? Nope, I am peachy keen, Clay, just ask Mr. Porter!” Hannah smiled, but it looked more like a grimace. She turned and began to walk towards the entrance.

“Wait, where are you going?” Clay ran after her, but she didn’t slow down.

“Home. I’m going home, Clay.” Hannah looked at him. “Nobody around here could give a shit. So I’m going home.”

“I do, though!” Clay said. “I do give a shit.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Try me.”

Hannah took a breath. Her eyes were becoming swollen again. She ran her fingers through her hair. She’d painted her nails a dark blue.

“Clay,” She said. “I’m sorry. For what’s about to happen. But I can’t…” She was crying now, she wiped it away with the back of her hand. “I can’t do this anymore. Bye, Clay.”

She reached out and squeezed his hand, then she pushed open the door and walked away.

“Mr. Jensen, I thought I told you to get to class!” The secretary was standing in the doorway of the office, arms crossed.

“Sorry, I-I’m going.” Clay watched Hannah walk down the sidewalk, head down.

* * *

 

Her words. That was all Clay could think about. He was supposed to be doing a Geometry worksheet, but all he could think about was her words.

_“I’m sorry. For what’s about to happen.”_

What was about to happen? What was Hannah doing? She wasn’t the kind to skip class. Ever.

“ _I can’t do this anymore.”_  
Do what? She’d been so distant lately.

“ _...For what’s about to happen.”_

“Clay, are you even paying attention?” Mr. Kwon was in front of his desk.

“Sorry?” Clay said.

“I said, are you paying attention?”

“No, I, uh, have a headache. Could I go to the nurse’s, please?”

“I suppose so. Are you okay?” Mr. Kwon looked a bit confused as Clay hurriedly threw everything into his backpack.

“Yeah,” Clay said as he left the classroom. “I’m fine.”

* * *

 

As he unlocked his bike from the rack, Clay’s mind was racing. Hannah was going to do something. But what? And where? Clay took off down the street.

 

He found himself in front of Hannah’s house. Staring at the front door. All of the cars were gone. He knocked on the front door.

“Hannah?”

No response. He knocked louder.

“Hannah, you here?”

Still nothing. He could hear something from inside. It sounded like running water. The door was open. Clay hesitantly opened the door and peered in. No one was in the front rooms.

“Hannah?”

Silence. There was definitely water running somewhere in the house.  
“ _I’m sorry. For what’s about to happen.”_

“I’m coming in, Hannah!” Clay said loudly.

The sound was coming inside Hannah’s room, the door wide open. Her room was empty but immaculate. The scarf she had been wearing at school was hanging on a hook. It was a bathroom, that was where the sound was coming from. But there was another sound other than running water. Someone was sobbing over the sound of the water.

“Hannah?” Clay knocked on the door. “If you don’t answer me, I’m coming in.”

But there was nothing but a sob.

“Okay, I’m coming in.”

Clay swung the door open.

 

He wasn’t sure what he expected to find. Hannah crying in the bathroom, upset over something. Maybe running a bath to make herself feel better. Whatever it was, he definitely didn’t expect this.

 

“Hannah? Oh my god, oh, god-”

Hannah was laying in the bathtub fully clothed. A bloody razor lay on the side of the tub. Every second Clay stood there, the water of the tub was turning redder and redder. It had begun to slide down the side of the tub in pink drips. She looked up when Clay came in and inhaled shallowly. She was hyperventilating, her breath catching in her throat and she stared at Clay with those goddamn eyes. But she didn’t say anything.

“Oh my god, oh my god-”

Clay couldn't think. Couldn’t breathe. But apparently, he could move. In an instant he was at the tub and lifting Hannah up, lifting her out of the bloody water.

“It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay, okay?”

He put her on the ground, next to the tub, and she leaned into herself.

 

She had cut herself.

Six inch gashes into the flesh of either arm, at least an inch deep. The blood wouldn't stop coming. It spurted in waves and drenched his clothes, the ground, his hands. His stomach was in his throat.

Oh, god.

Hannah had tried to kill herself.

 

All those times Tony had teased Clay about boy scouts. But Clay hadn't sat through four hours of first aid training for nothing.

“Okay, okay, we just need to stop the bleeding, no big deal!”

But how? With what? Hannah was getting paler, was moving less. There was no time at all. He definitely wasn’t about to leave her here to find a first aid kit.

“Shit-” Clay ripped off his backpack and pulled his sweatshirt off. His t-shirt would have to do. He pulled it off. His hands were shaking as he ripped the fabric into strips.

“I'm sorry, I’m sorry..” He whispered. He took one of Hannah’s arms (she was barely reacting now, her head lolled onto his shoulder) and tightly wrapped it above the gash. Hannah gasped a little but barely moved. Once, twice, three times. The bleeding slowed. He took the other and did the same. The rest of the shirt he wrapped around the cuts; almost immediately the white of the shirt was drenched red.

“It hurts…” She groaned.

“I’m sorry-” Clay took her hands and held them above her head. “Can you hold them? I have to call 911,”

As soon as he let go, Hannah’s arms dropped to her side and the bleeding became more profuse.

“It...hurts…”

Clay grabbed her hands again and again put them above her head. A stream of blood made its way down her arm and dripped onto her face.

Clay was gonna puke. But first he was gonna call 911.

It took him three tries to get his phone out of his pocket, two tries to dial 911,and four tries to get Hannah’s address right. They were on their way, they promised, keep her awake and everything would be fine. Keep her awake. That's a task.

The next five minutes felt more like an hour. Hannah was paler. She could only mumble. Clay finally realized that he had blood on his hands, his arms, even his chest. Hannah had blood _everywhere._ Because she had tried to kill herself.

“EMS!” There was a shout from the front door. _Oh, thank god._

“IN HERE! WE’RE IN HERE!” Clay screamed.

Two medics rushed into the bathroom, already pulling on gloves.

“Jesus Christ! That's a lot of blood.”

One crouched on the side of Clay and felt Hannah’s pulse.

“It’s weak, it’s really weak.” She told her partner. She turned to Clay “When was the last time she was responsive?”

“Maybe a couple minutes, at most. Please, help her.”

“We’re gonna do our best. But for now, you need to move.”

“But-”

“Move, please.” The medic took Hannah’s arms and suddenly Clay was slumped against the far wall while they picked Hannah up and put her in the gurney.

“Tourniquets look stable, leave them for now.”

The medic looked at Clay.

“Did you do those?”

“Uh, yeah.” Clay stuttered.

“You saved her life.” He said.

Clay said nothing. He didn't feel like he's done anything. He felt like he hadn't been fast enough.

“Holy _shit-”_ Another voice came from the front if the house. One Clay recognized.

“On three-” the medics lifted the gurney up and pushed Hannah out of the bathroom.

For a moment, Clay was alone, shirtless, sitting in a puddle of pink water and utterly covered in Hannah’s blood.

Then Tony was in the doorway, and he looked terrified.

“What happened, what the fuck happened?” Tony crouched down by Clay.

“Hannah’s in a ambulance. Why are you covered in blood? Where’s your shirt? Why the hell is that bathtub full of bloody water? Clay?”

Clay just stared at Tony. Then he turned to the side and threw up, his stomach clenching. He felt sweaty, like he'd just broken a fever. Or maybe like he'd just tried to tourniquet two cuts meant to kill Hannah Baker.

Tony was still staring at him.

“Hannah.” Clay said raspily. “Tried to kill herself.”

“ _Dios mio_ .” Tony slumped against the wall next to Clay. “She left these tapes on my porch. Thirteen of them. And a note that said, _for after the funeral_.

“She, uh, cut her wrists.” Clay motioned at his own, tracing a line up his forearm. “There was so much fucking blood, Tony.”

“Jesus, Clay!”

“Hannah…” Clay couldn't stop seeing the sheer desperation on Hannah’s face, couldn't stop seeing the blood that spilled in every direction. His chest, was it always this tight? Why was there so much blood under his nails? “Hannah tried to kill herself-”

Clay couldn't breath.

* * *

 

They didn't let him see her until nearly a month later. She was voluntarily institutionalized, so that was where his mom drove him. The first thing he saw was the back of her head. She was sitting alone in the day room, cross legged on a couch, some book in her hands. Her hair was longer now. She had it pulled back, but little curly tendrils were falling out. He knocked on the door and walked in.

Hannah smiled. It was small. It didn't reach her eyes like it quite used to. But she smiled.

“Hey, Helmet.” She said softly.

“Hi, Hannah.” Clay said.

She looked tired, Clay told Tony later on. There were bags under her eyes and she was still so pale. She was dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt shirt. White bandages wrapped up her forearms.

Clay sat down on a chair across from her. Thank God she was here. Thank God she wasn't gone. But of course, Clay could never say that outloud.

“How, uh, how are you feeling?” Clay asked awkwardly. _Goddamit, Jensen! Step your game up!_ Jeff’s voice rung in his ears.

“I’m, uh, doing okay.” Hannah said. She smiled again, and Clay’s stomach did flips.

“Okay? Like better, okay? Or, okay, okay?”

“Better? I think?” Hannah said. “They have me in these bullshit therapy sessions, where I have to talk to _people_ about my _feelings.”_ Hannah rolled her eyes and Clay could see a glimpse of life.

“Damn those goddamn feelings.” Clay said. “So inconvenient.”

“Right?” Hannah grinned. “I mean, if I didn't have feelings, I never would have tried to slit my wrists!”

 

The words were heavy and they hung in the air long after they left Hannah’s mouth.

Clay looked down at his hands. He’d spent a week scrubbing dried blood out of his nails. He still woke up screaming from dreams of finding Hannah too late, not finding her at all.

 

“I’m, uh, sorry,” Hannah said cautiously. “My therapist said to be careful joking about that-”

“No, no, it’s fine, it’s just-” Clay realized he was crying. Goddamn it. He swiped at his eyes and turned away from Hannah. Hannah, who had been committed for attempting suicide and was now trying to comfort Clay.

“Clay.” Hannah said softly.

Clay wiped at his eyes with his sleeve and looked back at Hannah.

“Do you wanna talk about your feelings?” She had a half-smile on her face.

“Hannah.” Clay stared at her. Those bandages on her wrist were dripping again, the blood was staining her gray sweatpants. _No, that's not real_. He shut his eyes tightly and reopened them, and Hannah was blood-free.

“When I found you…”

“What?”

“You were crying, Hannah. You cried when I picked you up, you cried when I tried to stop the bleeding. You cried until you didn't. I thought..” Clay’s voice cracked. “I thought you were gonna die.”

Hannah wasn't meeting his eyes any more. She picked at the bandages around her wrists.

“I thought nobody would care if I did.” She said quietly.

“ _Nobody would care if you_ \- Goddammit, Hannah!” Clay realized she was scared. Her eyes were wide. He took a deep breath. _Smooth, Jensen._

“Sorry.” He said. “Hannah, I care about you a lot. I’ve been having nightmares, all this month. About what my life would be like if you weren't there. And it _sucked._ ”

Hannah was staring at him now. Her eyes were getting bloodshot, tears were dripping down her cheek.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was imperceptibly quiet.” She put her hand between her knees and her shoulders were shaking.

“Hey, hey!”

Clay jumped over to the couch, one hand around her shoulders. After a few minutes she looked up again.

“Thank you.” She said.

“What? For what?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. He could feel the gauze rub against his skin.

“Thank you for saving me.” She said.

“I’m just glad you let me.”


End file.
